Perfectionism
by bluestring
Summary: To be the perfect model, athlete, son, hero . . . How much are you willing to give up? How much are you willing to lose? How much pain and pressure could you handle? How far would you go?
1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note: **I know what you might be thinking: Here she goes again, writing another multi-chap that she might delete again. Okay, I'll make sure that this won't get deleted. The reason for this story is because I want to try writing good fics. I still have a lot of one-shots to post and I have a problem with my writing so maybe writing this multi-chap would help. Oh, and this is slightly based on Perfect by Ellen Hopkins so it'll be (like really little) AU.

Enough of that, I hope you enjoy reading this chappie :)

**Disclaimer: **I do not own anything familiar.

* * *

_Perfect (adj.) – without error, fault, flaw._

* * *

Diamond.

I'll admit, it's hard living up to my family name. Not only because of the reputation my parents have put up, but the word itself. _Diamond. _When you hear the word 'diamond', the first thing that you think of is its brilliance and how it reflects the light. And that's what I want people to think of me the moment they hear or read my name. I want them to think of my face, my body, my features and how exquisite it is.

I grew up under the watchful eye of my parents, especially my mother. She made sure that I grew up, camera ready, from my eyes, to my nose, to my cheeks, to my teeth, to my jaw line until my toned body. I remember wearing all sorts of braces just to make sure that whatever she wanted to fix came out _perfect. _Of course, not every procedure was forced onto me; most of it was actually something that I prayed to happen. I wanted to be like my mother, she was beautiful and everyone admired her.

As I grew, I started taking my own risks to be perfect. I didn't care if people said that it could harm me greatly.

I wanted people to look at me as the epitome of purity, of perfection . . .

And maybe, just maybe, I'll be able to make friends.

* * *

Mitchell.

When you're here in Texas and you mention the name 'Mitchell' to anyone, the first thing they'll say to you is 'It's too bad, huh. She could've been really famous'. Everyone in town knows the story, just not the whole story.

You see, my sister, Sage Mitchell, tried to commit suicide. And I guess it didn't turn out the way she planned. She lived. And she was sent to a rehabilitation center as soon as it was possible. When people found out the news about a very successful and intelligent student committing suicide, they automatically start rumors that it could be because of the school or the work. They didn't even bother thinking that maybe it's because of the family, more specifically, the parents.

I remember how furious and disappointed my parents were. They grieved on and on about how they lost someone who they could depend on for the future they dreamed of. To stop their misery, I told them that I was a Mitchell as well and I was willing to work hard for their future. But it seemed as if I ceased to exist.

So, I vowed to myself that I would work hard even if it meant abandoning my own dream and following what my parents wanted for my sister.

I wanted them to see me as the _perfect_ child that is smart and that they could depend on . . .

And maybe, just maybe, they'll notice that they also have a son.

* * *

Garcia.

"The Garcia's? Oh, they're a delightful family. Well, except for the boy. He's weird."

Being called 'weird', honestly hurts. People have the idea of the Garcia's as the wonderful family, the heroic family, well, excluding me. Just because I'm not cute when I try to help like my sisters or I'm not as amazing as my mother or as brave as my father, it already means that I'm not part of the wonderful and heroic family as people called it.

I can help it if I couldn't read or write well enough to pass my teachers standards. I couldn't help it if my mind couldn't fully comprehend any input that anyone tells me right away. I couldn't help it if I do dangerous things after being told to follow rules in a handbook. I can't help it if I'm 'weird'.

My parents say that it could just be a passing phase in my life. They say that at some point, my mind will mature. At times, just to make me feel better, they say that it's just another word for unique and that they're jealous. Jealous of what? Jealous because even the best teachers in the state call me a hopeless case. Jealous because I can't even be a good example to my younger siblings. I can't see why they'd even want to be jealous.

Even if I knew that I am a hopeless case, I'll work harder, no matter how hard it may seem to me.

I want people to see me as someone heroic or at least someone _perfectly_ normal . . .

And maybe, just maybe, people will start accepting me.

* * *

Knight.

Sometimes, I'm proud to be a Knight. Sometimes, I don't know if I could take it being a Knight.

Kenneth Knight used to be Minnesota Wild's most prized player. He also used to be the Knight family provider. All before he was taken away because of a drunk driver. Being his son, everyone expects that I have the natural talent my father had. Everyone expects me to represent my father.

My father died when I was young. He never completely taught me how to play hockey. I just taught myself as I grew up. Do you know how hard it is when everyone is expecting to see the best player in the history of Minnesota? Failure is never an option. You should've seen the faces of the people watching our game when I couldn't skate as fast, slam as hard or shoot as accurate as my father.

I'll work hard. Work even harder than anyone. Start focusing more on hockey.

I want people to see that I'm built to be a hockey player, a _perfectly_ built athlete. . .

And maybe, just maybe, people will stop comparing me to my father and my family would be proud of me.

* * *

**Author's Note: **Before I forget, I want to recommend you to PurpleOrchids98 stories. She's kind of new to the BTR Fanfiction fandom and she has a few in her account. She has loads of potential and she's a really nice person. I know because she's my best friend.

So, please review :)


	2. Chapter 2

**Author's Note: **I guess I should inform you that I'll be starting school in a few days. So, I don't have much time to update. I'll try as much as possible to update every weekend. I apologize ahead of time. I hope you guys bear with me. Okay, I guess that's all I have to basically say. Thanks to everyone for the alerts, favorites and reviews.

**Disclaimer: **I do not own anything familiar.

* * *

_They say that nobody is perfect. Then they tell you practice makes perfect. I wish they'd make up their minds. - Wilt Chaimberlain_

* * *

People say that mirrors lie.

On the contrary, I think mirrors are the only things that could tell you the truth. It could tell you that you're too fat, too skinny, too tall or too short without beating around the bush. That's why I considered my mirror, my friend.

I looked at myself in the full length mirror adorned with golden moldings that my mother gave me. I could say that, finally, after all those braces, my face and body could be considered as something near to perfection.

_Near to perfection? Please. It's nowhere near anything. It could be considered tolerable with that shirt on._

I lifted the front part of my shirt and examined my abdomen. The mirror was right. Who would think of my body as something near to perfection?

_How are people going to like you? How will girls even be attracted to you? I wonder why your agent wastes looking for modeling jobs for you when you don't even have a six pack._

"James?"

My head followed the direction of the sound. I saw that it was, Patricia, my agent.

"Come in. Have a seat." I offered her.

"Thanks for the offer but I only came here to give you this month's cosmetics magazine." She told me as she walked inside.

The door was slightly ajar and as she gave me the magazine, I heard my mom scream.

"What's that?" I walked to the door. Then, my agent blocked me.

"Nothing, James. Why don't you go back to . . ." She didn't have the chance to finish her statement when I pushed her out of the way and went down the staircase.

As I went down the flight of stairs, I heard words coming from my mother's mouth that signified annoyance. It sounded as if she was furious at someone from disobeying her. My mom could tolerate anything, from lying to cheating. But never, and I mean _never _disobey her or she'd snap and explode like a firecracker. When I reached the bottom, I sat down on the last step and listened.

"I don't care! I specifically told you to tell them to erase the lines on my face. Especially the wrinkles near my eyes. For Christ's sake, Chris, I'm advertising make-up that assures you to be absolutely _perfect_. Yet, I don't look anywhere near perfect. Oh, you forgot? Well then, I forgot to tell you . . . you're fired!"

I wanted to talk to her but I decided to wait for a few minutes for my mom to cool down. Then, I approached her.

"Mom?"

"Oh, honey . . ." She tried to smile through the tears passing her cheeks.

I took tissue from the table and gave it to her. She, in return, gratefully took it and wiped the tears away.

"At this rate, I'll look twice as old as I am now." She attempted to make a joke to make me forget what happened. But it wasn't working.

"What was that about?"

"Nothing important." She tried to convince me.

"Mom." I said in a stern voice.

"A person, who _used _to work for me just made a mistake with the picture in the magazine. Nothing you should be worrying about." She waved the matter away. "How do you like yours? Personally, I think it's _perfect_."

"I-I haven't seen it."

"Well." She snatched the magazine, I didn't notice, that I had in my hands and flipped a few pages until she landed on the page with my picture or somewhat, my picture.

"What-What, I-I." I stammered.

I grabbed the magazine from her and scrutinized the picture.

"So, what do you think?" She excitedly asked.

"What do I think? Mom, it's barely me in the picture." I tried to stay calm despite the mixture of emotions I was feeling.

"Oh, com one, it's really nice." She encouraged.

I caught a glimpse of my agent. She was walking toward us.

"What's this supposed to be?" I yelled at her, anger bubbling inside of me.

"W-Well, your face is still there."

"Gee, thanks. Thank you for remembering to literally cut and paste my head to another body." I mocked.

"James!" My mom cried out and took a deep breath before continuing. "I'm the one who told them to do that."

"Why?" I was shocked.

"Your body just wasn't toned enough. I needed a perfectly toned body."

I looked at her in disbelief, hot tears attempting to fall.

"Now," She cleared her throat. "Could you please leave us alone for a while, James?"

I nodded and went back up. I opened the door and stepped inside. I positioned myself in front of the mirror. It's words and my mother's echoed in my head.

_It's nowhere near anything. . . Wastes time . . . Wasn't toned enough . . . Needed a perfectly toned body . . . _

"Stop! Stop!" I clenched my fists, closed my eyes and tried to stop the taunting.

"Shut up!"

I heard a shatter. I felt pain in my right fist. Something trickled from my knuckles. And when I opened my eyes, there it was . . .

My only friend, broken.

* * *

To get attention. After days, weeks, months of putting the puzzle pieces together, I finally understood why.

I was tapping my foot, waiting patiently for my sister. The doctors kept apologizing for the delay, but the truth was, I didn't mind waiting. I really didn't want to see my sister. The only reason why I did was because I felt responsible in telling her that we were moving since my parents couldn't due to the trauma they still had.

"Hortense!" I heard my sister.

I tilted my head upward. She had a carefree smile despite the depressing aura that the rehabilitation center emitted. I watched her and those whom she passed. She managed to make onlookers smile as well, it was weird to think that she ever became depressed. She grinned and hugged me.

"Oh, Hortense."

"We agreed that I wouldn't be called by that name." I reminded her with gritted teeth.

"Right." She pulled way and sat on the table as I sat on the chair. "Where's Mom and Dad? They said it was a family visit, and, well, I was expecting the family?"

"Mom and couldn't be here. . ."

"And why's that?" She raised an eyebrow.

"You know why."

She shook her head and innocently batted her eyelashes.

"They can't bear to see you." I stated plainly.

"Ouch. That's a bit harsh." She acted a bit pain.

"You think everything's a joke, don't you? Do you know how much trauma you've initiated on them? Do you know how depressed they became? Do you know how long they keep talking about you? Do you know how hard it was to listen to them saying that _you _were their _only_ hope for a good future?" I stopped, realizing what I was already saying. "Sorry, it's just that . . ."

"It's okay." She half-smiled exposing the dimple she had on her right cheek. "They don't _want_ to see me." She paused for a while and looked into my eyes. "Do you?"

"Do I what?"

"_Want_ to see me?"

"I don't know." I shrugged and there was a moment of silence. "Why'd you do it?"

"Do what?"

"Commit suicide."

"I guess . . . I couldn't take mom and dad anymore."

"What's that supposed to mean?" I sound offended.

"No, no, I meant, I'm just sick of them over analyzing everything I do. I hate the fact that they're trying to change me, like I'm a robot that could just be programmed and re-programmed if something goes wrong. I don't want them to control me and my future."

"They're giving you their full attention to make sure you wouldn't regret anything when you become older. They're making sure you have a perfect future. Why can't you just be grateful?"

"Hortense, you don't understand . . ."

"Yeah, I don't understand. I don't understand 'cause, unlike you, I'm nothing more than a measly speck of dust. Maybe, even smaller." I stood up and pushed the chair back. "You know what, I know the reason why you did it. You just wanted more attention. Mom and Dad's weren't enough so you had to include the whole state of Texas."

"Hortense . . ."

"Excuse me sir, but I believe you have to go now. You are agitating our other patients." A man in white came up to me.

"Sorry." I told him then faced my sister. "I just came here to say that we're moving to Minnesota. Goodbye." I turned around and walked away.

I heard footsteps right behind me. I felt a hand on my shoulder. Soon, I was face to face with my sister, her carefree expression, gone. She looked exhausted and worried but in her eyes, I saw an emotion that I never thought I'd see in my life, concern.

"Look, Hortense. I'm really sorry. I didn't mean to grab mom and dad's attention and grab more with what I did."

She hugged me tight, tears passing her cheeks and soaking my shoulder.

"I know that you really didn't want to see me, you were just forced to do it. Nevertheless, I truly appreciate it. You don't know how many times I've prayed at night to see you. . . Have fun in Minnesota. I hope you get what you deserve. Be careful. I love you."

She planted a light kiss on my cheek and slipped a paper in my hand before walking back to her room.

I opened the neatly folded the paper she gave me. Written in script was . . .

'The real reason: To give back the attention that you deserved more than I did.'

* * *

Always tell the truth.

Telling the truth was the first thing my parents taught me. They said that lying would just make everything worse. They told me that if I told the truth people would appreciate them. And I believed them.

"Alright, honey, you know the drill." My mom was fixing the tie that matched the suit I had to wear for the interview.

"Don't say anything . . ."

"Unless directly spoken to. Sit up straight. Make good eye contact. And most of all . . ."

"Be honest." I looked at my mom.

She heaved a sigh and dusted of the coat.

"Carlos, this is important and you know that. Right?"

"Yes."

"May I ask, just this once, that you, at least, try to act normal."

I nodded. Both of us went down the staircase and outside, into the car. Mom and Dad were in front while my sisters and I stayed in the back. The ride was silent and so was the span of time we waited for the interview.

"Carlos Garcia." A lady dressed in red called. "She's ready to see you."

My father, my mother and I stood up and went into the office.

"Please, please, have a seat." The principal told us. She then got a folder in one of her drawers. She put on her glasses and ran her finger on the words as she read.

"Carlos Garcia. Known troublemaker. Suspended for three days after yelling at teacher. Has regular visits to the detention room. Has a lack of discipline, respect and focus. And this has to be the lowest average I've seen." She put down the folder and removed her glasses. "Mr. Garcia, you must be the worst case I've ever seen in my 20 years of being a principal. Tell me, don't you like school?"

Be honest.

"I don't."

I saw my parents' eyes widen and the principal's expression taken aback.

"What-what he meant to say was, he doesn't like school. He loves it."

_Lie._

"I see. Mr. Garcia, there are other schools, some even have better facilities than us. So, why did you choose us?"

"I didn't choose to study here."

_Truth._

"Oh, honey, you're too modest. This was one of the schools he dreamed of going to. He didn't choose to study here because he never thought he would ever get the chance."

_Lie._

"Well then, you must be very happy to hear that we're going to accept you."

"Not really."

_Truth._

"He's just staying calm as a sign of respect to the other teachers and to you."

_Lie._

The principal smiled.

"Manners. I'm impressed. Now, Mr. Garcia, if you don't mind stepping outside for a while. I still have to talk to your parents for a moment."

I went out, closing the door behind me. I walked and sat beside my sisters who were drawing.

"How was it?" Sophie stopped coloring and asked me.

"It was ok."

"Oh . . ."

"What're you drawing?" I tried to sneak a peak.

"Well . . ." Sophia, Sophie's twin, showed me the picture.

It was a picture of them, a cat in a tree and a boy in a cape with a helmet.

"Who's that?" I pointed to the boy.

"You, silly." Both of them simultaneously said while giggling and shaking their heads.

"For a while, I felt happy because in someone's eyes, I was a hero. The happy feeling suddenly vanished when I saw my parents come out of the principal's office. My sisters and I stood up.

"Well, Mr. Garcia, we can't wait to see you on Monday."

As we walked to the car, my parents were quiet. I thought, even hoped, that they would stay like that until we reached our house. I was wrong.

"Carlos, I told you that this was important. Why in the world did you choose, out of all schools, to act like that?" I could hear the tension in her voice.

"To act like what, Mom? Like someone who likes school, like someone who wanted this school more than anything else, like someone _normal_? Thing is, I'm not."

"Well, you could've at least tried."

"I did but I couldn't. That would be lying to them, to myself. And you said that I shouldn't lie."

She turned around and started screaming.

"Well, if you lied back there, you'd be in that school without us trying to fix your mistakes. Then, you'd stop being a burden to us. Do you know how hard it is to explain to my friends, your father's friends, your sister's friends about your unusual actions? I asked you to do one thing. How hard could that be? Even your sisters could do better and they're younger. You're a disgrace to this family!"

"Hon, that's enough." Dad warned.

Mom huffed and went back to her previous position.

I went back to the times they told me they were proud of me, they cared, they loved me. Every ounce of pride I had left disappeared. I never felt more stupid in my life.

Stupid in believing nothing more than lies.

* * *

My coach said that the thing he loved about me was that I was responsible.

I was responsible for being the one who brought the team to victory. I'm glad the coach thought so. I just hoped that people thought so as well.

Okay, I admit, I love getting the spotlight. But what could I say, the feeling is so addicting. The feeling of getting all the credit for something you did and occasionally, what the team did. It's more of a bittersweet feeling though. Despite the bitter feeling of being hated on by the team every time I was praised, the sweet feeling of being told that I was like my father was always greater.

But I wasn't stopping there.

Seven pucks were lined in front of me. We were in the middle of the rink. I wanted to be able to hit the puck to the end of the rink where the net was with one clean, swift move. That move was one of dad's famous moves and I decided to replicate what he did and maybe even improve it.

_One. Swoosh. Goal!_

_Two. Swoosh. Goal!_

_Three. Swoosh. Goal!_

_Four . . ._

I heard my phone ring and I lost focus. I accidentally hit the puck and sent it flying to the glass instead. I skated to the glass I hit. Thanks goodness, it didn't break nor crack. I quickly skated to my bag and answered the ringing phone.

'Kendall, where are you?'

"I'm here in the rink, mom."

'Did you forget? You forgot.'

"Forgot what?"

'That I had a date tonight. Kendall, I told you several times this week that I have a date on Friday and you have to stay with Katie.'

"Oh, shoot, I totally forgot."

'I figured. Just come home. I called your Uncle. He'll be staying with you tonight.'

"What? Why? I could take care of Katie myself."

'Kendall, you couldn't even be responsible enough to remember that I had a date. How could I trust that you'd be responsible enough to take care of Katie? Just come home.'

When she hung up, I removed my skates and changed my shirt. The rink was only a few blocks enough to just walk.

I can't believe that she had to call my uncle to babysit us. I am perfectly capable of taking care of my baby sister. She was one of the people I was willing to offer my life just for her safety. So, why in the world couldn't she trust me?

I opened the door of our house and went inside. I dumped my bag in the hallway and kept walking. I saw my uncle with Katie in the living room. I leaned in the doorway as I watched my sister laugh at the faces he made. It was a long time since I've heard my sister laugh. I could never make her laugh as loud as others could and I didn't know why. My uncle raised his head and greeted me.

"Hey, squirt."

"I'm sixteen!"

"He doesn't like being called squirt anymore." Katie informed him.

"Is that so? But you used to love being called that."

"Well, now, I don't."

"Kendall, be nice to your uncle." I heard mom come down the staircase. "So, how do I look?" She twirled.

"You look really beautiful mom." Katie commented.

"Absolutely stunning." My uncle stressed.

"Kendall?" My mom asked.

"Do I have to answer that?" I teasingly asked her. "Of course, you look gorgeous."

Her cheeks turned light red.

"You're just like your father. Charming." She kissed me on the cheek. "I'll see you later. I love you."

She left.

"Okay, what's for dinner?" My uncle put on his crazy thinking face which made Katie giggle.

"How 'bout mac and cheese?" Katie suggested.

"Wonderful suggestion. To the kitchen!"

They both marched to the kitchen and he put on the apron that my mom wore and started cooking. I lifted Katie up so that she was able to sit on the stool and I sat down as well.

"So Kendall, do you know who your mom's date is?" He said as he waited the pasta to boil.

"No but I have a pretty good guess."

"Who?"

"That business man, dude. I don't know his name." I shrugged.

"Hmmm . . . And why him?"

"Well, mom thinks he's like dad. He visits her in the restaurant. He takes her out. He buys her expensive stuff. He never does anything for us though."

"Yes, he does. He brings chocolate and other stuff."

"For you Katie. But I know he hates me 'cause I always tell him he'll never be like dad. I wonder how mom could ever love someone like him. He doesn't deserve someone as awesome as mom."

"Maybe he's not the exact carbon copy of your father, Kendall. But if your mom thinks so, I think you should respect her decision. She is the only person that knew him the most." He took out the pasta, added cheese and butter and mixed it .

"Hope you guys like it." He smiled as he placed the plate in front of us.

"I still think mom's only loves him 'cause he's rich."

"Well, your mom's lucky. She wouldn't have to work hard for both of you."

"I can't believe you're siding with her!"

"Kendall, I'm only looking at what that man could offer. Unless, you could earn money to sustain the family, you should look at it as something good."

"I'll get a job then."

"I don't think that you . . ."

"I could do it! If it means not seeing that man again."

"No. That is not your responsibility. It's . . ."

I pushed the plate and ran upstairs.

_How could I trust you'd be responsible enough?_

* * *

**Author's Note: **It's currently 12:00 midnight here. And I'm really tired but I wanted to post this for you guys. Oh, about the mac and cheese thing. That's the only way I knew to cook mac and cheese. So, the plot slowly picks up from here. I know the guys may seem jerks here, but you'll see they'll change, maybe. Please review :)


	3. Chapter 3

**Author's Note: **So, I apologize for not updating at all for this story. It's summer here so I'll probably update more but not that often because of my review classes. Hope you enjoy this chapter

**Disclaimer: **I do not own anything familiar.

* * *

"_People throw away what they could have by insisting in perfection, which they cannot have and looking for it where they will never find it." – Edith Schaeffer_

* * *

An impression.

That's what I'm trying to make. I'm trying to make a long lasting first impression that I'm not just an average person or some face passing by who will be unnoticed and forgotten. Instead, someone who desires to be envied by other people who can't reach the standards of beauty that society set - that _I _set.

"What in the world are you wearing?" My mother scolded while walking through the door.

"Mom, I didn't know knocking was out of fashion." I teased as she walked toward my closet.

"Mmhm, very funny sweetheart. I'm just making sure that you make a good impression on the first day." I could hear hangers taken off from the rod present in my walk in closet.

"Wear this." She gave me the clothes and gently shoved me into the closet.

I closed the doors and dressed up. Well, I wasn't planning to wear a t-shirt with sleeves short enough that it can be mistaken as a tank top. I wasn't also planning to wear a shirt as thin as my handkerchief.

"What happened to your mirror?" I could hear her through the closed doors.

"Uh, uh, you see-"

"Never mind, I'll just buy you a new one. Come out. Let me see." I could hear the excitement in her voice.

The moment I stepped out, she gasped and shook her head.

"It's perfect."

"Mom, it's minus 10 degrees out there. I don't really want to leave people the impression that I was stupid enough to not to wear something warm." I explained as gently as I could.

"Oh, honey. Do you think anyone will think you're smart if you wear warm clothes? Beauty always trumps brains. Jackie!" She hollered.

In a few minutes, Jackie our maid who's supposed to be there at her beck and call, arrived.

"Y-yes, mam?"

"You are not allowed to speak as long as you are in my household. I want you to get rid of these. Burn them if you have to." She threw the clothes at Jackie who, luckily, caught the clothes.

"Oh, even this jacket." She threw it at Jackie's face.

"What? Why?" I ran to Jackie and grabbed the jacket.

"Honey. We must let everyone see your flawless tanned skin. It's something that people in this town can't have or even _afford_. It would be _such a waste_ of time, effort and money if you don't even show my hardwork. Besides, that jacket is cheap – a fashion faux pas. I'll just buy you a new one." She snatched it from my hands and threw it back at Jackie.

"But mom-"

"-That is enough Joseph!" She screamed then become conscious of what she said. "I'm sorry. I meant James. James."

She kept repeating my name reassuring herself that she was talking to her son and not to my dad.

"M-mr. Diamond. H-here. Y-you may keep it. B-but please don't tell her." Jackie stuttered and gave me the jacket, obviously scared talking to and about the people who she's working for.

I accepted the jacket and hugged her with absolute gratitude for what she did. She stiffened a bit then reciprocated her. Afterwards, she bowed when I let go showing her inferiority compared to me—a person she worked for.

Just when I thought I had a friend.

* * *

Harder. I had to push myself harder. I had to make people have the impression that I'm a hard worker. If I left that impression, people would finally think that I am just as good as my father, probably even better. They will see that I don't stop until I'm perfect at what I know I'm good at.

"Knight!"

"Coach." I looked up at the bleachers and skated to the glass.

"Isn't it a little too early to train?"

I shrugged and continued shooting pucks into the net.

"Doesn't hurt to be prepared. Besides, the ice is my shock absorber."

"Nervous on the first day, huh?"

"No . . . Something else."

"Okay, I won't go pryin'. But as the captain of the team, I have to inform you that almost half of the team quit."

"What? Why?"

"They say that they can't bear you and that you're too much of a superstar. So maybe, you could hold auditions or apologize to the team."

"Yeah. Yeah. I will."

"Alright, Knight."

I could hear his footsteps soften as I moved the pucks to the other end of the rink.

"Just remember, Knight, in hockey you need a leader and a team. And as the leader I hope – no, I expect that you find a well trained team. You can't do anything alone.:

"Maybe I can."

* * *

"Everyone. This is Carlos Garcia. He's from . . . Where are you from again?"

"Well, I'm from-"

"—My that's splendid. Now I want you all to be friends with him. Carlos, you may sit beside Logan."

"Logan?"

I raised my intonation and my eyebrow showing her that I'm obviously new and I don't know everyone yet, unlike the others. She suppressed a sigh and nodded to a pale boy in a sweater vest. He was sitting upright with his hands together and his fingers intertwined as if he was praying – maybe, he was. I walked to my seat – second row, third column, occasionally hitting people with my bag as I passed by. I landed on my seat with a thump, grabbed my helmet and put it on my head, receiving weird faces and insults from my classmates and my teacher.

So much for making a good impression and looking normal.

At least Logan didn't seem to mind.

* * *

The day went on as usual. Teachers gave their first day speeches, a rundown of rules one isn't supposed to break, things not to do during class – as if I'd ever plan to do anything like that. The last bell had to be my favorite bell to hear. As much as I loved school, after class is the only time I'm given the freedom to do what I want, to be _myself_. It was a time where I don't have to be restricted by the expectations from others and myself.

As I walked home, enjoying the breath of freedom, someone almost knocked me off the sidewalk. If I didn't have even the slightest sense of balance, I could've died. It's not a bad idea though. No one would notice or even care anyway.

"Hey! Sorry, I'm a little bit clumsy at times. Are you okay?" He offered to help me up.

I didn't take it and brushed the snow off my already-moist-from-snow-when-I- fell pants. I sure didn't want people to have the impression that I'm weak and can't handle a little scratch unlike my sister.

"I'm Carlos by the way and you're . . ."

"The new guy?"

He giggled.

"What?"

"You're calling me the new guy and yet you don't look like you're from around here."

"What?"

"You ask what often."

"Really? I never noticed." I said sarcastically.

"Well, now you know. And it's the accent."

"What?"

He laughed and I glared at him. Accent? What accent?

"Ok, ok. It's your accent. You sound like you're from another state and you still haven't gotten used to speaking English with _our _accent."

"And what accent is that supposed to be."

"The normal one."

"What?"

I heard a beep from behind us and saw a police car. The car parked a few feet from us and the windows rolled down and revealed a man in black glasses.

"Hey son! Where've you been? Get in the car we have to go."

"Well, it's nice talking to you." He smiled and patted my shoulder before going in the car and leaving me.

And I knew, from the impression he left me, I would hate him. It wasn't because he was nice enough to talk to me but because he had what I'll never have until I make a good and lasting impression with everyone.

* * *

**Author's Note: **I hope you guys liked it. Can't wait to hear some feedback from you guys.


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